


The Night Is Still Young

by foxjar



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Cousin Incest, Cunnilingus, Drama, F/M, Masks, Minor Karren von Rosewald/Original Male Character(s), Oral Sex, Romance, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-12-07 10:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20974385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/pseuds/foxjar
Summary: Mirumo's attempt to arrange a marriage for Karren doesn't turn out as either of them had planned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is inspired by [this amazing AMV and song](https://youtu.be/tJxfv5obwaA).

Karren thumbs through the stack of photos Mirumo handed her, glossy and freshly printed. They're the only thing she's been given from which to judge these men she's never met, who, frankly, she'd rather not meet at all.

Mirumo's chair squeaks as he leans back, steepling his fingers. He always conducts himself with a grace that defies his true nature as a ghoul, cloaking himself behind both his glasses and various business ventures.

"They've all been thoroughly vetted," he says, and Karren almost asks who it was that provided such a service. Everyone has ulterior motives for wanting this union to be successful; some ghouls have more stake in this than others, and most of them she has never even met, being business associates of the Tsukiyama family.

She flips over the photo of one man to reveal his name, written in a hurried scrawl: Leon Dietrich.

"This one is German, yes?"

Mirumo nods, and when she looks at his picture again, she pays more attention; this man from her home country deserves at least that, as if she could somehow absorb something from the image. She can make German food here — the buttery warmth of potato dumplings, the sweet custard encased within Bienenstich — and she can play the music written by her forebears, plucking at her violin with her bow, but something escapes her. She can't live Germany here; she cannot breathe the air.

The man's eyes in the photo are dark and solemn, either having seen too much in his relatively short life, or much too little. His hair is a dark lavender, like lilacs after a downpour has saturated its petals. There's a distinguished air about him, accented by his formal choice in a slate gray suit, and it reminds her of her brothers somehow. Of how they could slip between teasing her, to all business in the blink of an eye, as required of them during social events and gatherings.

This man she doesn't know reminds her of home.

Mirumo is trying not to steer her towards any particular selection, but as she looks at the photo of Leon, he starts to drum his fingers against his desk with excitement. This man must be quite a catch — for Mirumo's bank account and prestige, anyways.

"You'd be able to return home," he says, leaning forward, seeming to forget that he promised to stay neutral. "To Germany."

She knows what he means — return to Germany, where she grew up and where her father's family is from — but the implication still stings. Home is wherever Shuu happens to be, whether that be Japan, Germany, or a particularly unfortunate rendition of hell. Mirumo has welcomed her into the family in his own way, although he's put more thought of his immediate family over the comfort of his niece. If the Rosewalds hadn't been massacred, Karren might have been asked to marry Shuu at some point. But they were hunted down and murdered without remorse, and nobody asked her anything.

Even now, Mirumo isn't asking her to choose a husband, nor is he demanding. He simply tells her how helpful it would be for the Tsukiyama family — for Shuu — to have her married off. Having her around has always been a risk for Shuu. Although he never mentions his son directly, Karren can read between the lines.

One of the few things they seem to have in common is that Shuu is the most important person in the world to them. Karren can respect wanting to put his safety and happiness above all else; it's what she's been doing for the past decade, after all.

When it comes to this arranged marriage, she has one stipulation: that one of her children be allowed to keep the Rosewald name. She doesn't know if there's anything else she should fight for, or if she's even worthy of anything more. The continuation of her family name is of utmost importance, at least.

The thought of leaving Shuu scares her; it makes her stomach clench with apprehension as she imagines the numbness to come once she no longer has him to brighten her day. Shuu is the reason she even wants to wake up each morning so that she can bring him his breakfast and see his sleep-tousled hair.

She'll have to meet all of these prospective suitors, of course. Even Mirumo wouldn't force her into a marriage without having met her future husband. He's even planning a ball, a grand social event where, for the first time, she will be the gleaming star. If she hadn't lost her family, maybe these sorts of things would usual for her — draping gowns and dozens of men vying for her affection.

Mirumo has been asking for her opinions on a dress, but she still isn't sure how to respond. As she's never worn many outside of trying on the attire the other female servants wear, she doesn't know what might complement her body. Hopefully nothing too short or revealing; the thought of her breasts being exposed mortifies her. She tends to sleep in only a long t-shirt, but outside of that, she's never worn anything with her chest unbound, especially not exposed in any manner.

The situation is overwhelming, making her chest tight as she fights to keep her breath steady. If she could, she would flee the room — to her room, or to Shuu's arms.

It's all too soon, and yet too late. She knew marriage would be expected of her, even from a young age, but she always put it out of her mind. Her master became her world; she chose to revolve her life around him.

Even though the Tsukiyama family practices consanguineous marriages, it's always been a faraway dream for Karren. She's never felt worthy of him, no matter how brightly her love might shine. Besides, Shuu is special — the light of the Tsukiyama family — and his love is allowed to flow freely. No matter how much Mirumo wants his son to fall in love with a nice woman and settle down, he doesn't push him.

Mirumo is giving his son the freedom he might not have had, despite the love he eventually fostered for his late wife. He doesn't want the choice taken from him like his own had been snatched away.

Karren is different; she is irrelevant, in the grand scheme of things.

/What is Germany without my family? Not home. And what is Germany if not home?

The chair squeaks again as Mirumo leans toward her, resting his elbows on the desk.

"Shuu doesn't know about this," he says.

Karren doesn't have to be able to see his eyes — always hidden behind those small glasses — to discern his meaning.

It's not that Shuu doesn't know about this arrangement; it's that he cannot find out about it.

Shuu can be woefully ignorant — especially when it comes to things just out of his focus, like Karren's array of secrets — but he sees more than most people give him credit for. And when he enters Mirumo's study, screeching "papa" all the while, he ends up seeing a lot more than they anticipated.

Mirumo, in his haste, knocks off half the portraits from his desk. It might have been helpful if the floor were somehow able to hide the photos, swallowing them like a living thing, but it was an honorable attempt.

Silence.

Karren clutches the arms of her chair. She should stand and bow to her master, but the silence unsettles her.

Shuu is only ever quiet when he's plotting something, or when he's angry. He even mumbles in his sleep — about literature, musical composition, and Kaneki's scent.

"Papa," he says, voice eerily calm. "What is this?"

"It's...nothing."

Neither of the men notice the grimace on Karren's face, nor the way her shoulders tense. Having a decision forced upon her that will change her life — nothing, indeed.

Shuu takes a seat beside her, crossing his leg at the knee. He sits with elegance; he breathes with grace. He drums his fingers along his thigh, drawing Karren's gaze to the motion. His suit is a soft mauve; it's not one she can recall seeing him wear before, despite having the majority of his wardrobe memorized.

"Good afternoon, Kanae," he greets, offering her the faintest of winks. Having his eyes on her for but a moment — and even having her false name on his tongue — makes her heart race.

Then he's back to business, pressing his father about the photographs now strewn across the room; they are a glossy mat upon the floor.

"_Rien!_ If it were nothing, Kanae would not be here."

Shuu leans over to squeeze her shoulder, and in this moment, she loves him more than she ever has.

"It is a trivial matter," Mirumo replies carefully, already wilting beneath Shuu's assault.

There is only one thing that Mirumo can't give his son: a lie. He can omit the truth, and he can stretch his words, but he cannot deliver a deliberate falsehood to the one person who means the world to him.

Their love for Shuu is one of the few things she can relate with Mirumo on; he, too, is her world. And thus, ever the dutiful servant, she comes to Mirumo's aid.

"Excuse me," she says, interrupting the staredown between father and son. "These are potential marriage candidates. For me."

Shuu whips around to face her so quickly that he still has his eyes wide open in a glare. She shrinks back at the sight, even as his face softens. The glare was for Mirumo, not her, but to be looked at so plainly — as if she were a small, insignificant bug — disturbs her.

"For you? But they are…"

"Men, yes." Then, before she's asked to elaborate, she continues. "I like men."

Silence fills the room again, and she wonders whether he's angry or thinking.

"And these 'men.'" Shuu spits the word, his tone speaking volumes as it echoes through the room. "They are good men?"

Mirumo attempts to give his son the same spiel he gave her earlier. "They have all been thoroughly vetted —"

"Oh, Papa." The sadness in Shuu's voice breaks something in her, but even more than that, it's that the sadness is for her. "Kanae deserves more than that."

He gathers up the photos on the desk, thumbing through the small stack. When he sees Leon, he scowls, and Karren has to bite back a smile.

Again, they slip into an argument, but this time, even as Mirumo keeps his words gentle, Shuu's voice grows angrier by the minute. He clenches the pictures in his hands, his nails tearing holes right through Leon's face.

"This isn't for you to decide," Mirumo says, voice sad.

Something about this retort offends Shuu, as if the very idea that he might not have a say on Kanae's marriage appalls him.

"Then Kanae will marry me." At this, Karren nearly falls out of her chair, etiquette be damned. It's just an idea he's throwing to the wind in his frustration, but the mere thought being vocalized makes sweat drip down her neck.

"We've discussed this, Shuu. You know that isn't possible."

_Discussed Shuu...marrying me?_

Her head pulses with pain at the news. It's too much information in such a short amount of time, and yet too little to quench her curiosity.

_When did they talk about this? How many times? And to what length?_

This is the one argument Shuu cannot win against his father, though, and for the first time, Mirumo raises his voice to his son. It isn't a shout, but Karren can see the tendons bulging in his neck.

Karren marrying Shuu would bring too much attention to the Tsukiyama family. Even if they changed her name, even if it took years — a reckoning would come.

She shudders at the thought — of her own selfishness bringing about the downfall of the only family she has left. Mirumo often told her such stories when she was younger, as if he needed to frighten her away from his son like a parent warns their children about staying out past dark.

Even Shuu himself seems somewhat taken aback. His hand lays still on his thigh, and he no longer bounces his leg atop his knee. He bids Kanae farewell before leaving, ignoring his father's pleas to be reasonable, and before long, it's just her and Mirumo again.

"Well." He groans, rubbing at his temple. "That could have gone better."

Karren isn't so sure.


	2. Chapter 2

The night of the ball comes sooner than Karren had anticipated. The entire event has been kept a secret from Shuu; each machination has been set in place for an evening when he would be away on business. Mirumo had requested his help, and Shuu wasn't one to shirk his duties. He had bid Karren farewell with another one of his charismatic winks, making her legs so weak she thought they might collapse beneath her.

When Shuu is away, the ghouls will play.

Even from her room, she can hear the music; the deep sound of the piano fills the halls. She hasn't heard a band play like this since her parents were alive, but back then, she wasn't in the limelight nor did she have to wear a dress.

Her parents allowed her to wear slacks and a dress shirt with her hair pinned back to show the glow of her eyes. She used her modest appearance to her advantage, slipping through the crowds unseen even as she bowed low to passing lords and ladies when she couldn't find a hiding spot.

She was insignificant then, a ghost sneaking through the halls, and this delighted her. Through the eyes of a child, she saw the wonders of the world while being unseen herself.

It was her mother who wore the finest of dresses, the latest in fashion with its train longer than Karren was tall. Even her father and brothers wore finely tailored suits in various shades across the rainbow, and throughout the evening, guests would slink their way up to them, buttering them up with compliments: their exquisite home, their clothes, the party itself.

It was Nathanael who always played along with her, despite their age difference. He was nearly a man grown, but he indulged her curiosity, often excusing himself from their guests so that he could beckon to his little sister hiding in the shadows.

"Come and see," he would say, leading her to the balcony where the night sky shone bright, lit up with the ethereal sparkle of fireworks.

But Nathanael is dead, just like the rest of her family. No longer is he here to beckon her — to see her for who she is, no matter where she might be hiding.

_Come and see,_ he had said.

_Come and see._

It's Matsumae who helps her dress up now, dusting her cheeks with the palest of rose blushes. She uses light browns to make her eyelids pop and paints a soft pink on her lips.

When Karren looks in the mirror, she sees someone else. The dress Mirumo chose is beautiful, but she doesn't feel quite at home in the soft, billowy satin. It bares her shoulders and collarbone, the neckline swooping over the top of her breasts in a curved v-shape. The skirt itself is pleated near the top with slits running the span of the dress, leaving the fabric to fall like petals around her.

Although the dress is beautiful, it is muddied by her face and body. The effort put into the gown — as well as tonight as a whole — is appreciated, but such elegance is wasted on her.

The music is louder out in the hall, almost beckoning to her as her brother had so long ago. Matsumae trails behind her, preventing her escape, and when she finally makes it to the ballroom, the music slows to announce her presence.

All eyes are on her now, and it's too much for her. Dozens of masked men litter the room, dressed in fine suits with so many different patterns, it makes Karren's head spin. Some are standing together, sipping blood wine from polished glasses, while others are alone, staring at her with wonder.

She is the only person bereft of a mask, naked in a room of vipers.

Mirumo comes to her rescue before long, taking her arm and leading her into the room. He tries to tell her how stunning she looks as if beauty could save her from both tonight's embarrassment and a lifetime of suffering a poor marriage.

Her heels clack against the floor, and although she's been practicing with them for the past few weeks, her movements still feel clumsy and jittery. She must look absurd, trussed up in clothes she's clearly not fit to wear; she is a ghoul parading as a princess, mocking beauty itself.

She remembers when Mirumo told her, all those weeks ago, that he would remain neutral on the issue. The final decision on who to marry would be her choice, he said — but it's still Leon Dietrich that he introduces her to first.

When their eyes meet, she's so stunned at the familiarity that she forgets to curtsey until Leon is bowing before her, kissing her hand softly. He lifts his mask for her, and he bears such a resemblance to her late brothers — more so than his pictures had — that she struggles for words.

Again, Mirumo swoops in, bridging the distance between bachelor and bachelorette with one of the subjects he knows will lure in both of them: Germany.

Leon talks about his large estate back home and how he has a dozen servants ready to procure him the freshest of German blood wines whenever his heart desires. It's a thoughtful gesture, despite the entire purpose being to lure her in, but this, too, is lost on her.

_What can this man offer me that Shuu cannot?_

She tries to ignore the intrusive thought, but the answer still dances across her vision.

Marriage — a home. A family with children. Her own life.

In truth, this man has much to offer her — if only she grasps the proffered hand leading her home. If only her love didn't anchor her here in Japan or wherever else Shuu might choose to venture off to.

Hearing stories about the country she might not ever see again makes her sleepy as if being read a fairy tale before bed. It's close enough that she can touch the cover, but the meaning behind the words escapes her.

Leon must be able to tell she's zoning out because, after sharing a look with Mirumo, he mentions his flower garden back home. This piques her interest, as it transcends words; more than just hearing fanciful tales about his extravagant estate, she can picture the flowers in her head. She imagines his garden might look something much like the Tsukiyama's: bountiful, with each plant finely trimmed and cared for with love.

Mirumo excuses himself from the group, citing his desire to mingle with other guests. As he leaves, Karren keeps a straight face, forcing out a warm smile she doesn't quite feel.

"You look stunning," Leon says, pulling her hand to his lips again. She resists the urge to swat him away — or worse, to punch him — despite how polite he's been to her. He's gracious and attentive, asking if she'd like a drink or to dance, but something about him just seems off.

He's a picture-perfect candidate for marriage, but he isn't Shuu.

Leon looks past her, eyes thinning under his mask before a hand touches her bare shoulder from behind. She shivers beneath the touch; the warmth of it both pulls her in and pushes her away. The man introduces himself as MM — nothing more, nothing less. His masquerade mask is embellished with glimmering golden swirls; it's the most stylish mask she's seen so far, and its simple shape somehow holds the eccentricity of it all together.

"May I have this dance?" he asks, pressing a kiss to her hand. She wonders how many of these greetings she might have to suffer through before the night is over, but this kiss is different; something about the way his lips brush over her skin makes her shiver.

Leon shakes his head, answering for her as if he's already staked his claim. "She doesn't dance."

"_Non!_" MM exclaims, the pure energy in his voice somehow familiar. "That simply won't do."

Before Leon can protest further, Karren is swooped away, heels again wobbling beneath her, but MM never lets her fall. His grip on her arm is strong as he leads her to the center of the room, but if she tried, she thinks she could break free. Whether or not he would chase after her is another issue entirely.

One of MM's hands twines with hers while the other rests on the small of her back. She shakes her head at him even as she positions her own hands atop his shoulders. The fabric of his suit is soft — a grape purple with pink pinstripes.

"I don't dance, sir," she says. "You heard correctly."

"Nonsense, _mademoiselle_." He leads her in a slow dance, careful to mind both her flowing train and awkward steps. She can feel dozens of eyes on her from all across the room, but the only person whose gaze she wishes to meet is that of this mysterious stranger.

"Everyone dances at some point," MM continues, leaning forward to brush his lips against her ear. "Whether it be alone, or...in the rain."

His voice is molten, setting her skin aflame with its confidence. She wonders if Mirumo is watching them and whether or not he's pleased with the turn of events.

"How are you enjoying the party?" MM asks, dipping her low. She clutches at his shoulders, but he never lets her fall. "And the mediocrity?"

The sudden venom in his voice startles her. "Excuse me?"

"Dietrich." He nods to where Leon must be standing, but she doesn't spare him a glance.

"I've learned he has a very big home and a very big garden," she replies, the rush of the evening loosening her tongue. "And a very large ego. Likely compensating for something much smaller."

MM laughs, deep and mocking, but it makes her smile all the same. "Quite. I believe you're onto something there."

They dance for what feels like both minutes and hours; she longs for it both to end and yet to never cease. It amazes her how he manages to avoid stepping on her dress at every turn, and with the way he's carting her around the dancefloor, she must look almost graceful. In his arms and within his gaze, she feels like she matters. For once, she is center stage and it doesn't bother her. For once, she wishes things could stay like this forever.

But the song playing has to end sometime, no matter how long the band might try to stretch it out. She wonders how long they've been dancing when the music ends on a soft, lingering note, and before MM can lead her off the dancefloor like a gentleman, he pulls her to his chest so close that she can see the golden flecks in his violet eyes.

"The mediocrity is watching us," he says, smirk dancing upon his lips. "I imagine he is quite jealous."

"And whatever might he be jealous of?"

Instead of answering her question, he peers at her for such a long moment that she wonders just what it is that he sees.

"Allow me to show you something."

"Does it have to do with the mediocrity?" she asks, still alight with humor after his taunting.

"It does not." Then, in a tense moment, the smile slips from his face. "I don't like to share."

She doesn't ask what he means, and he doesn't offer her an answer. As they leave the ballroom, she's half-convinced someone will chase after them to drag her back, but no one does.

There's just MM and her in the dark hall, cloaked by shadows as if she is an interloper in her own home. She doesn't ask how he knows his way around the mansion, not even when he leads her to the servant's quarters. She has so many questions, but they die on her lips; she doesn't want the magic to fade just yet.

When he pushes her against the wall, hand trailing up her thigh through the slit in her dress, she gasps.

"I don't like to share," he says again, breath warm on her skin. "But you knew that already."


	3. Chapter 3

Karren recognizes her room even in darkness as the homey feeling washing over her; it still smells like the rose-scented detergent she used to wash her laundry the previous day. What confuses her is how MM knew to lead her here, but before she can ask, he's pressing her into the wall, lips hungry against her own.

She always imagined her first kiss might be soft and slow, leaning in toward one another like a romance movie abound with cliches. This is anything but that as she opens her legs to him, letting his knee slip between them. He groans into her lips as she clutches onto his dress shirt, wrinkling it with her fingers.

"Will you be keeping your mask on?" she asks once he slips down to kiss along her neck, voice breathy as she tries to lighten the mood.

"If I said yes, would you object to that?" Hands trace the tops of her breasts, where no one has touched before. She has only ever desired one pair of hands on her, and somehow she can feel him — through the mask, through this whole charade.

There are no objections, and as she is whisked through the air and onto the bed, light as a feather in his arms, she stifles a laugh. Glee bubbles up within her as he pulls at her dress, fumbling in the dark as he searches for some way to take it off.

"While you do look extraordinary in it," he says, hand tickling its way up her thigh, "I would much rather it be somewhere else. Anywhere else."

She stands on shaky feet, tugging the fabric up and over her head before tossing it away to fall to the floor as a pile of wispy fabric. Without her body to animate it, it seems like such a trivial piece of clothing, but what isn't as insignificant is what's left of her attire. She wraps her arms around herself, feeling bare, but MM reaches out to her, beckoning her back into his arms. The bed squeaks beneath her weight as she shifts to straddle his thighs, knees digging into the soft comforter. His hands run up and down her back, teasing the clasp of her bra.

"May I?"

Her heart clenches at the smoothness of his voice, at his patience with her inexperience. She leans in to kiss him, answering him with her lips, and he unhooks her bra before pulling it off, leaving her breasts free from their restraints. He cups them as they kiss, thumbs kneading circles into the soft skin, and her body rocks against him, feeling the hardness in his pants.

"I've never done this before," she says, cheeks flushed as her heart gallops in her chest.

"I know." He holds her by the waist, lifting her off of him to lie back on the bed before he kisses her ear. "Don't be afraid."

His hands caress her thighs, back and forth, as if he's the one consumed by anxiety. She wants to tell him not to be afraid, too — that he's safe here with her — but instead, she grabs one of his hands and brings it between her legs. Even with her underwear still separating them, she feels alive beneath his touch; desire courses through her entire body.

"Have I ever told you about your scent?" His fingers dip below the waistband of her underwear, slowly teasing them down her hips. "Like flowers after it has rained. I don't wish to eat you, of course, but to taste you would be —"

"Then do it," she says, voice low with arousal. She isn't sure whether he'll take her up on the offer at first, but then he's tearing her underwear off her legs, leaning down to kiss along her thighs.

Nothing could have prepared her for the way his tongue feels as it slips inside her, warm and coarse. His tongue delves in and out as he tastes her, hands gripping her hips hard now as his composure escapes him. Being the one to cause him to unravel like this is bliss; she never imagined she could wield such power over another person.

If only he'd take off his mask. If only he would trust her heart.

When he sits up, kissing her lips once more, she can taste herself; it's a new sensation for her, but it isn't altogether unpleasant. His hands are gripping her just a bit tighter, his tongue slipping against hers with more fervor, and she can tell that he loves it — the taste that is uniquely her.

She wraps her legs around him, heels digging into his hips as she pulls him closer. He's still fully clothed and she can feel the fabric of his suit against her, soft but unwanted. She nudges him with her foot and he sits up, mouth agape before he starts tearing off his jacket, both buttons and fabric damned beneath his strong hands. It was such a nice suit, but even better is the feeling of his bare chest against hers.

For the first time in so long, she feels alive. Her body comes to life when he touches her, reawakening a lust she's never given herself the time to appreciate and the body she's never allowed herself to love.

He pulls back again to dig through the pocket of his pants, discarded off to the side of the bed. She almost lets a whine escape her throat, whether it be a garbled sound or the fullness of words, but then she sees the condom wrapper in his hand. Protection is a reasonable enough excuse for them to pause, but her body is still jittery, awaiting the return of his hands on her skin.

She's left to watch his face as he puts the condom on, biting his lip, and before long he is pressing against her, but not inside just yet. She can feel the heat of him, teetering so close, and as he leans back over her, she chokes back a gasp. The bed creaks beneath every moment he makes, and now it sounds so loud, both louder and more mesmerizing than anything she has ever heard.

If she knew an arranged marriage would bring her here, to this very moment, she wonders if she would have dove in headfirst. She wonders if any other paths could have led them here to her bed, but then he's pushing his arousal inside her, hands holding her thighs steady, and she isn't sure what to think anymore. It aches as he enters her, but he moves with a slow, easing patience that she has never known him to possess, and this relaxes her. She can hear him gasp into her neck, can feel the heat of his breath as his mask scratches at her skin. He's trying harder than she ever imagined he would, even in her darkest fantasies, and she loves him for that.

She knows him too well: his scent, the sound of his voice. If there was ever a moment she was unsure, that time is long past. More than anything, she wants to see his face, unmasked as he pivots his hips into hers, searching. But she lets him have his secrecy, for whatever reason he desires it; even as he hits something deep inside of her that makes her moan, she gives in to each of his wants and cravings.

It doesn't hurt, but it feels strange, as it's a sensation she's never been able to achieve when she's touched herself. She never knew enough about her body to try, but he knows, somehow, even if he's scrabbling in the dark to please her — Shuu, her beloved. She doesn't say his name aloud, but she can taste it on her tongue, and she wonders if he'd look up at her if she said it.

Her whole body is dripping with sweat, and at any other time, she'd be cringing at the feeling. But not with Shuu inside her and all around her, hands gripping her hips and breath sighing against her lips. It's both clumsy and perfect all at once as their bodies meet again and again, trying to sync their movements but never quite finding the middle ground. When he hits that spot inside her, it feels like a jolt running through her body, making her skin tingle. She wants to tell him to keep hitting there, right there, but she doesn't know how to form the words; she just hopes her moans and her nails scratching down his arms speak loudly enough.

He's muttering in a mix of languages — Italian, French, German — and he's stringing them together as if it isn't an incoherent array of sounds, as if the world should know what he means. And with the fire in his voice, the pure passion, maybe the world would understand, but it's the German that sets Karren off. She rarely has the opportunity to speak it with anyone else, and she's often too shy to try to goad Shuu into a conversation, but here he is, pouring her mother tongue into her skin.

All is well, all is whole. She doesn't want the moment to end, wrapped up in Shuu's embrace, but she feels the desperation thrumming in her body. She wants to come with him inside. Her hand slips down her stomach and between her legs, and at first, it's almost too much.

He's fucking her harder now — his movements faster, deeper — and with her finger circling her clit, she is lost. His lips meet hers as she comes, both muffling her sounds and mixing them with his own.

She was wrong before, and Shuu speaking German isn't quite her favorite thing; it's Shuu moaning her name, deep and breathy as if he thinks this will be the last time he ever utters it. She holds him as he finishes, one hand pressed against his heart, beating wildly in his chest. It strikes her as so strange that she could make his heart beat so fast, but despite it all — with Shuu being adamant about keeping his mask on as well as the lack of clear communication beforehand — she is happy.

When he rolls off of her to lie on his back, she cuddles up against him, cheek pressed to his chest. The way his arm wraps around her shoulders, bringing her body even closer to his, is more physical affection than she ever imagined receiving from him. As she thinks about the entirety of tonight as a whole — Shuu coming to the masquerade when he was supposed to be away, sneaking her away from curious eyes, making love to her on her own bed — it feels like a dream.

He's pulling off his mask now, tugging the strap from around his head. She smiles at the way it ruffles the hair he usually keeps so orderly, as if all the world is a stage, awaiting its star: Tsukiyama Shuu. Even in the dark, with only the low glow of the moon through the window, he still shines.

"You must think very poorly of me, Karren," he says, voice deep and ringing in her ears. If she had to choose only one thing to listen to for the rest of her life, it would be Shuu's voice.

She sits up, shaking her head. "I could never. Why would you say such a thing?"

"I was afraid," Shuu admits, and there's such an unusual sort of fear marring his words, making his voice shaky, that she reaches out to steady him. "I've never felt this fear before — the fear of losing you."

He shouldn't be afraid, as she would never leave him. But before she can reaffirm her dedication to him, he grabs her hand, holding it in his own.

"You won't marry him, will you?" he continues, and she can almost hear the sneer in his voice. "That sniveling — oh, whatever his name is."

She almost laughs because, despite how interesting her suitor had seemed a mere hour or two before, she can't quite recall his name, either. With Shuu here in front of her, she has no need for anyone else.

Shuu brings her hand to his lips, the softest of kisses after the most intimate of actions. Maybe it's all happening in the reverse order that she's always imagined it, but the fact that it's happening at all takes her breath away.

"It is your choice, dearest Karren, but it would please me immensely if you were to be mine."

There is no answer within her but a resounding "yes," no other answer but her lips against his, curling into a grin.

_Finally,_ she thinks, even as her body shakes and her heart thuds in her chest. And maybe next time, Shuu won't need to wear a mask when he makes love to her. By then he will understand that she adores him, through and through, and nothing will ever change that.


End file.
